Beneathe the Drawing Room
by nevillesdashizz
Summary: A brief tale of human intimacy and what it can do to help lift the heart


**Draco/Luna** This is just a one-shot. Not the best out there but I thought I'd thrown it out anyway :)

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_"I wish we could get out of here."_

_"You're not the only one,"_ Draco snipped irritably through tightly clenched teeth. He was finding it difficult to adjust to the pitch black of the dungeons below the drawing room. He almost wished that the Dark Lord had just putten him under the Cruciatius curse like Bellatrix did sometimes to this. At least that was brief. Instead, he was being punished for being kind to prisoners. What had the Dark Lord judged kind? Draco had fed the prisoners. He'd fed an old, defenseless, emaciated man and a less than sane blond headed girl.

It was compulsory. The emaciated man haunted Draco's dreams, demanded his attention. Draco only did it to get him out of his head. Still yet, his insides twisted at the thought of the two below whilst he roamed the house. Olivander literally made his stomach lurch sickly. The old man's skin was stretched taut across his bones and he looked dead already. A green hue covered his face and his sickly facade haunted Draco. He'd literally dreamt of the old man for three nights in a row before making up his mind. The young master ordered the House Elves to prepare special refilling plates to be secretly delivered to the dungeon.

Once the Dark Lord learned of this, he'd been punished and the House Elf was mercilessly killed. The Dark Lord hissed through his reptilian teeth, _"You sympathize with them so much... All the better to join them." _Draco's parents said nothing when their fair haired son turned to look at them. He held nothing against them for their silence. The grief was plain upon their faces. Narcissa was seated ramrod straight in her chair, lips pinched together while Lucius glared determinedly at the tabletop his hands rested firmly on. They'd both flinched when Voldemort made his declaration but they knew better than to defy him. They knew better and Draco hadn't. He had to learn his lesson.

And so he suffered. The Slytherin hadn't eaten in three days and was beginning to feel the reprecusssions of his actions. His stomach was gnawingly empty, burning vaguely as he shifted. Ignoring the Loony girl that sometimes chattered above him, he decided to lay down. She talked all the time, but never said anything worth listening to. She never made sense either so all the better to ignore her. His thoughts turned inward. It had only been days but the time felt much longer to Draco. He felt as though he'd had plenty of time to think about what he'd done. The more he thought of it, really, the more disgusted he became with himself.

He hated that he'd been weak and snapped under pressure. He was _sorry_ for the poor old man and wanted to help. Guilt wasn't something he was accustomed to feeling and it had made him weak._ "See where those kind of feelings get you,"_ he could just hear his father intoning mentally. Draco had spent all the early years of his life listening to his father's quips and tidbits of knowledge. He'd parroted his father long enough and the distance that had grown between them in Voldemort's New Reign grew more evident. When they'd bade their fare wells, Lucius had stiffly wrapped his arms around his son's slighter form. Narcissa clung unashamedly, crying into Draco's neck and clinging to him for dear life. It wasn't clear if they'd see him again or anytime soon. A loud, whooping cough interrupted Draco's mental reverie and he glared weakly in the direction of the dying Olivander. Little by little, Draco was starting to hate the old man instead of pity him. There he was, suffering on the old man's behalf, and the damn skeleton couldn't even find the decency to stop moaning and groaning miserably. The fair haired youth closed his eyes, ears, and mouth against the dampness of the dungeon. He tried to concentrate on anything besides hunger and those mournful groans.

Weeks passed. His parents were prohibited from visiting him and Wormtail seldom remembered to feed them as was his nature. Of course, the Dark Lord cared not and said nothing. Draco didn't know what to do with himself. He sat for hours on end, just sitting. He'd press his fist against his mouth and bite his knuckles rather harshly to keep himself from crying. Sometimes, he would listen to Luna Lovegood chat idly to herself just to pass the time. Half the time, he didn't know if he'd been thinking out loud or to himself. To say the least, the dungeon was beginning to drag the worst out of him. Draco, who normally preferred to stay silent, gave into Luna's incessant chatter one day.

_"What the bloody hell are you talking about?_"

_"Do you think we'll ever get out," _she asked lightly, as though they were having a perfectly normal conversation. Draco listened to her breathe in the darkness. Her breaths were deep and shallow, far and few between. Her body seemed to know that her remaining breaths were numbered and that the count was steadily decreasing. The young Slytherin could tell she was resting a few yards from him from her voice. Everything was black though. It felt like he didn't even have the capability of sight anymore. Even if he did have, he thought, he didn't want to see _them_. He didn't want to see her ugly loony face and he _certainly_ didn't want to see that man's skin stretched tight against his bones. Was he even alive still? He hadn't heard him groan lately.

Draco still said nothing to Luna as he tucked his knees into his chest. Resting against the grimy wall, the stone was cold against his back. He could hear Luna's teeth chattering close to him. _"Get over here,"_ he gruffly ordered and waited patiently for her to find him. Surprisingly, she did so very quickly. Their shoulders touched as she seated herself next to him and neither of them had the energy to be surprised when they both failed to correct the mistake. A pregnant silence stretched between them. Draco cleared his throat and grimaced at the dryness found there. Nothing to do about it. Rasping, Draco asked her a question he already knew the answer to, _"Cold?"_ He felt her nod in the dark and wordlessly gathered her to him. No one would know what happened. No one had to know a single thing. After all, he was hungry, tired, cold, and lonely himself.

They wrapped their arms around each other and pulled away from the wall. Luna tucked her head neatly beneathe Draco's chin and her warm breath tickled his neck. His arms were looped around her thin shoulders and her hands were clasped together round his back. When she tentatively ran her fingers down his spine, she could feel each and every bump of his vertebrae. In an odd way, it was comforting. It made him feel real to her. She cautiously let her hands explore his upper body until she came to his heart. The gentle beating of the organ under her hand made her smile weakly. He was as real as her. Now that he was in her arms, she knew that she wasn't going completely insane. She wanted to thank him but chose not to say anything in the end. This was better than talking. This was better than filling up the silence with pointless words. She felt better than she had in months.

Within moments, the two were peacefully asleep and neither dreamed for once.

_~**KuroNekoSama1990**_


End file.
